Glimpse in Darkness
by Melissa Mendelson
Summary: A new villain is on the rise in Palm City, but is the Cape ready to play their dangerous game?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

Like a graceful dancer, the sun rose high, greeting morning. Golden rays were painted red. A gentle breeze sung to its beauty. Time stirred, stretching across a world holding to its dreams, but through the cracks does harsh reality set in. And a body lies charred, decapitated next to a man with a bullet hole in his head.

The train yard hummed with life. No more was it dressed in darkness, secrecy that swept away the evidence of innocence. It was a bug captured under a magnifying glass, burning with suspicion and intrigue, and the media buzzed frantically, swallowing up the event and broadcasting it across the morning news. The police force under the Ark Corporation were at a loss with no leads to follow except for the dead now left behind.

Vince Faraday strayed far from the crowd. A gray hood covered most of his face. His eyes wandered across the sea of media, and then his attention returned to the swarm of Ark's police force. He could feel the intensity, and it pulsed in sync to his heart. He wanted to get closer, but not with this much attention. He couldn't allow himself to fall on their radar.

The past was brilliant like a ray of sunshine. It seared into memory, bringing back that last moment, where he was a police officer, blinded by the trust of a good friend, and that good friend stabbed him in the back. He was sickened at the thought of that man staying close to his wife and son, and Chess? His eyes sparked at the devious plot to take over the city and paint a hero in darkness, but in darkness whispered hope, rising beneath The Cape. A new day would come, where the people of Palm City would awaken to the truth, but not today. Today was left cold, broken beneath another loss of innocence.

"Vince? You there?" Orwell's sweet voice tickled his ear. "Vince?"

"I'm here, Orwell." He turned slightly away from the crowd. "What's going on? What's the deal with those two dead bodies?"

"I'm not sure." Her hesitation made him nervous. "The one with the bullet hole was a hired thug murdered execution-style."

"The other?"

"Female."

"Female? That's it?"

"All her fingers were cut off. Her head was severed from the body and badly bashed in. It would be hard to match dental records with the damage done."

"Why would someone go through all that trouble to hide her identity?"

"I'm not sure." Orwell was quiet for a moment. "Without any kind of identification, it would be hard to determine the reason in why she was killed." She paused. "Whatever the reason, it has to be important."

"So, no leads to go on then?"

"I didn't say that, Vince. The hired thug, Megan Crollar made one call from his cell phone last night."

"The thug's name was Megan?" Vince tried not to grin.

"This is no time to crack jokes. The number he called is from a burned cell. There is no way to trace that, but he also received a large cash deposit into his bank account. The banker that made that transaction is Harold Ferris, another low life, who handles transactions mostly for the mob. Maybe, you should pay him a visit."

"I think I will." He turned back to the mayhem behind him. "I don't like this, Orwell. You would think that Peter Fleming would control the mob especially with him being Chess."

"Maybe, this has to do with Scales. If crime goes up, if we get more murders like this, people will start to doubt Peter Fleming."

"Yeah, and the city will go into chaos." Vince shook his head. "No, The Cape can't stand idly by while innocent people like that woman are being killed." He walked away from the crowd. "I'll investigate the banker. In the meantime, see if you can work up any other leads."

"I'm on it." The buzzing in his ear silenced with a loud click.

The sun was high in the sky now. Soft, white clouds failed to cover its light. A million rays pointed in a million directions, mocking The Cape's quest for leads. Sunlight danced off the long, broken streets before him, but there was no warmth. The cold touch of death was his companion, a warning of new danger, but was this merely another round of chess? Or was a new villain waiting in the wings, waiting for the cover of night to rise up and make their appearance?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The morning sun waltzed in, sliding between glass doors. Dress shoes traced along the patches of sunshine, hesitant to touch its light. Rays of another day filled narrow spectacles, and soft, brown eyes fell on the commuters bustling about. Time melted against a pale wrist, ticking with warning, and footsteps hurried over to the security console. As a cloud raced over the sun, a shadow fell along the counter, and a pocketbook opened, spilling its life story out into view.

"I know. I know I'm late." She started digging desperately through her bag. "Damn it. Where is my wallet? Can't find nothing in this damn pocketbook."

Two security officers sat behind the console. One was overweight with a very short haircut. The other was more military, and his sharp gaze caught her every move. When satisfied that she was not a threat but more of a nuisance, they returned to entering numbers into the console, bringing up security screens. Finally, one of them cleared their throat, loudly, and the other merely shook his head.

"Found it! I found it. I knew it was in here." She laughed, but they didn't. "Maybe, I'm better off with a briefcase." The men sitting before her were still not amused. "I have an appointment with Peter Fleming, your boss." She handed her identification to them. "I know I'm almost twenty minutes late, but I'm sorry."

The overweight man grabbed the identification out of her hand. The other one grunted something but continued to work on the console. A heavy hand fell on a red phone, and its receiver quickly lifted up to an ear. His fingers plunged against the digits, hoping for rescue from this nuisance. A ring tone barely brought satisfaction until a voice finally answered, and he felt some kind of relief. "Miss. Chase Roberts is here to see Peter Fleming." A glimmer of a smile stretched across his face. "Yes, she knows she is late. Shall I send her away?" Disappointment quickly shadowed his face. "Okay. I will issue her a visitor's pass and send her right up." He nearly threw the receiver back into its cradle. "Here you go," he said a long moment later, nearly throwing the visitor pass into her hand. "Take the elevator up to the top floor. Someone will meet you there."

"Who will meet me?"

"Someone," the other man barked.

"Sure." She attached the visitor's pass to her suit jacket. "How do I look?" She nearly laughed at their expressions. "Lighten up, boys. I'm leaving. I'm going." She walked away.

"Unbelievable."

"Tell me about it." The overweight man popped open a drawer and reached in for a candy bar. He offered it to the man beside him, but he declined. "Suit yourself." He inhaled the chocolate.

Two security officers dressed in police gear stood on each side of the elevators. Their black visors were down, but their eyes did not miss a thing. A semi-automatic rested in their arms. A strange, almost illegal thing for them to be carrying, but the city was in chaos. Peter Fleming was high priority, and they would not take any chances. They would be prepared for anything, even a sloppy, overdressed young woman that gave them a faint wave of her hand.

The elevator slowly moved upward. Large, circular numbers lit up. The top floor button glowed green for only those with access. The rest of the bustling bees spilled out onto the floors between the lobby and top floor. More time slipped away, and then only one set of dress shoes was left. They eagerly tapped the floor, awaiting their arrival, and begging for rescue from such a cramped space.

"Miss. Chase Roberts?" A short, blonde woman stood with her arms crossed behind her back. "You're late." Her tone was razor sharp. "Mr. Fleming has a very busy schedule, but he has agreed to see you." She stepped aside, allowing the woman to leave the elevator. "You have ten minutes. Speak fast, and hope to keep his interest." She moved quickly down the corridor. "If he sends you away, remember where we are walking. I don't have time to wait on you." She gestured toward a large, glass door. "This is his office. He's waiting inside. Do you understand what I just said?"

"Yes. Yes. I remember, but it's okay. He asked for this interview."

"He didn't ask for you." She threw open the door. "Let's not keep him waiting, shall we?" Chase entered the room. "Ten minutes." The door slammed shut behind her.

"Bitch," Chase muttered.

"I do apologize for her attitude." Chase bit her tongue. "Peter Fleming." He stood only a few inches away from her now, extending his hand outward, and she slowly shook his hand. "She is right." He held her gaze for a long moment and then stepped away. "I didn't ask for you." He gestured toward an empty chair opposite his desk. "I asked for David, your boss, but…" His eyes brushed over her. "You'll do."

"Thank you." Chase dropped down into the seat but then scolded herself, trying not to slouch. "Now, you asked my boss here about satellites."

"Straight to business. I like that." He sat rigid in his large, leather chair. "Can I offer you a drink? Some water, perhaps?"

"To be blunt, Mr. Fleming…"

"Call me, Peter, and may I call you, Chase?"

"I would prefer that." She folded her hands in her lap. "I don't understand why you called this meeting. You seem to have everything under control."

"Hardly." He finally relaxed and sat back in his seat. "I still have the Orwell issue, which is why I need the satellite program that your boss created. With that program, I can find Orwell…"

"That program is still in its test phase, and there are issues that the government is concerned about. Privacy issues."

"Orwell is a criminal breaking the law and creating havoc." He swiveled in his chair. "We need to find Orwell, bring him to justice, and then the courts can dispute about privileged rights. In the meantime, I'm concerned with his free reign of terror. Orwell must be found."

"For the program to work, I will need your security clearance."

"Of course." Chase smiled. "But…" Her smile faded. "I need to make sure of who I am talking to." He held her gaze. "David asked you to bring something?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. Running late this morning, and everything." She laughed, but he didn't. "I'm sorry." She dove into her pocketbook and withdrew a small, manila envelope. "He told me not to open this." She gingerly held it out to him. "He made me promise, actually."

"With good reason." Peter took it from her. "Okay. I have a meeting to go to, but you can discuss arrangements with my secretary. She will provide you with the security clearance." He picked up his phone and dialed in a number. "She's coming out." Chase rose from her seat. "Please, wait for her outside." Chase slowly walked toward the door but then tripped, bumping into a glass chess set and knocking a pawn over.

"I'm sorry." She rescued the pawn and placed it back on the chessboard.

Peter rose from his desk. His eyes flashed, and he grabbed the pawn to examine it. Satisfied that it was not damaged, he turned toward her and smiled. "You mustn't be so clumsy, Chase. It's unbecoming for a beautiful woman such as yourself."

"Thank you." She admired the chess set. "Do you play chess?"

"I'm sort of an expert at it. If I had more time, I would offer a game, but I don't. I have that meeting to go to."

"Sorry." Chase left the office.

"You should be." He stared at the pawn in his hand.

Peter's eyes flashed again. He stared at the office door for a long moment. The pawn left his hand and returned to the chessboard. He took a seat at his desk and ripped open the small, manila envelope. A few pictures scattered out in front of him, pictures of his daughter, but she was much older now. With the new satellite program, he hoped to find her. He sat back in his chair and held a picture up before him, and his eyes returned to a soft, brown gaze drifting outward to the world outside.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Morning slipped through broken glass. Shadows fell over disarray. Cracks of sunlight filtered through scattered papers, torn furniture, and two empty, wine glasses. The promise of warmth failed to penetrate the cloak of death. Its icy fingers clung to the body lying on the floor, the body of Harold Ferris.

The Cape wanted to come here first. He had hoped to find something incriminating, something to make the banker talk, but somebody had beat him to the punch. Somebody had torn through the house like a tornado in search of something, but what were they looking for? Did it have to do with those two bodies found earlier today?

"Vince." Orwell's voice broke him from his thoughts. "Did you find the banker?"

"Yeah."

Harold Ferris was a heavyset man, balding, and dressed for work. He must have had a meeting here, a private meeting for his selected clientele. An unopened bottle of champagne waited on the kitchen table along with the wine glasses. He was apparently going to celebrate some kind of occasion, but his party was cut short. And he was left lying face down in a pool of blood.

"I found him." The Cape slowly rolled the body over onto its back. "Seems like somebody wanted to make one last deposit." He stared at the letter opener lodged in the man's neck. "Another dead end." He shook his head. "This place is a mess. Whoever did this was looking for something."

"Did they take anything?" The Cape left the kitchen and moved into the den. "What about his laptop?"

"It's here." The laptop was left propped open on the banker's desk. The screen was dark. "It's been wiped clean. Orwell, can you trace any last transactions or emails from Harold Ferris?" No answer. "Orwell?"

"There was an email sent about the same time as those bodies were found. The sender's name is… Glimpse."

"Glimpse?"

"Yeah. The IP address leads back to an internet café off Central Ave. The email only says to meet here at the banker's house and to celebrate. The heist will be a success."

"Will be a success? So, the robbery hasn't taken place yet, and whoever this Glimpse is… They're obviously wrapping up loose ends."

"Yeah, and I just accessed the internet café's security cameras. The person at that computer has their back to the camera. It's like they knew exactly where the cameras were stationed to avoid having their face seen."

"Great." The Cape took one last look around the den. He noticed a newspaper article crumpled up and left on the floor. Kneeling down, he picked it up, and as he unfolded it, Peter Fleming's face rose into view. "Whatever is going to happen has to do with Fleming, but what are they after? Ark or Chess?"

"Maybe both," Orwell responded. "The coroner is doing an autopsy on the woman found at the train yard. As soon as his report is uploaded, I will access it and see if I can work up some more leads."

"Okay. I don't want to deal with Fleming until I know what is going on and who this Glimpse is." The Cape now stood over the body of Harold Ferris. "Somebody should notify the police about Ferris." He leaned down and pulled out the man's wallet. He found a blank business card inside with one word in bold printed on it, **Glimpse**. He pocketed it and dropped the wallet onto the body. His eyes scanned over the debris one last time. "Maybe, they weren't looking for something. Maybe, all this was meant to be a distraction."

"What do you mean?"

"Ferris was a loose end. What if Glimpse is very careful about leaving no trace behind? They knew how to avoid the cameras at the internet café and how to cover their tracks at the train yard. Maybe, they were afraid that Ferris would make a mistake, draw attention to them, and they don't want to be found. They want to do what they came here to do and then make a clean escape." The Cape looked at the two empty, wine glasses. "Celebrating their victory is far from their agenda, and Ferris may not be the only body to drop before they're done. We have to find this person. We have to find Glimpse."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Chase Roberts slipped her key into the door. A red light blinked green, and a welcoming click told her to come on in. Her dress shoes slid across the silky smooth carpeted floor, and her large pocketbook dropped onto a twin-size bed. She wrestled out of her suit jacket and waltzed up to a large, glass window. Throwing it open, she welcomed in the sun and breathed in a fresh breath of air.

A shadow fell behind her. An ugly click ran a deep shudder down her spine. The reflection of a gun stole her breath away. Time froze, and so did she. She waited, waited for the bullet to strike home, but the shadow waited for her to turn around. So, she finally did.

The man was tall, fit, and dressed in black clothes. A silver handgun was gripped in one hand, and he aimed it at her head. His eyes were brown, hard, and he held a perfect poker face. Why didn't he just kill her?

"Where's David?"

"He's dead." The man finally lowered his gun. "Close the window."

"Why? No witnesses?" He quickly raised the gun again. "Okay. Okay." She slammed the window closed. "What? What do you want from me?"

"Did you get his security clearance?" He took a dangerous step forward. "Did you get it?"

"No. I was late, and he wouldn't give it to me." He slapped her across the face, hard. "I'll get it. I promise. Please, don't kill me." The gun lingered against her throat. "Please."

"You are very lucky that my employer wants you alive. For now." He stepped away from her. "Get the security clearance. I would not test my employer's patience, if I were you."

"What do you mean? Who do you work for?"

"Let's just say that my associate crossed the line, and he got a bullet in the head for it. You want to cross the line? You want the bullet in your heart or your head?" He raised the gun at her, and she flinched. "You're alive for one simple reason. You want to stay alive? Do what you are told." He moved toward the door.

"If I do what you ask and I get Peter Fleming's security clearance, what guarantee do I have that you won't kill me?"

"None." He hid the gun beneath his coat. "Just be grateful that you are still breathing today." He left the room.

The room no longer felt like haven. It was cold like death had just visited. There was no freedom that waited outside but a plunge two stories down. There was no choice now but to do as she was told, and arms wrapped tightly around her. They had her exactly where they wanted her, and then the phone rang. "Hello?"

"Chase Roberts? This is Peter Fleming's secretary calling with your next appointment time."

"Yes." She fell heavily on the bed. "When's the meeting?"

"Three p.m. Today. Don't be late." The woman's tone was cold, crisp. "I have issued you a security clearance, so the guards will know that you are coming. Go to the elevators and up to the floor, where we met earlier today. I will meet you there."

"Okay."

"Three p.m."

"Okay." The phone went dead. "Three p.m."

Three hours. Was that how long she had to live? Was the Ark Corporation on to her? Did they know what was going down? How was she going to survive this? They were following her every move, and they would follow her to that meeting, waiting outside. If she stayed here, they would kill her. If she went to the meeting and got the security clearance, they would kill her. Three hours. That was how long she had to live.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"I got what you asked for."

Orwell stepped into the lair of The Cape. The walls were covered with numerous newspaper clippings, and Peter Fleming's face was on almost of them. A picture of his wife and son consoled the space that it hung in, but their loss was strongly felt. Police files cluttered the desk, files that could lead to the conviction of Peter Fleming and prove the innocence of Vince Faraday. Another file was dropped down, and its pages spilled open. Would it hold the answers so desperately sought?

"Thank you." Vince flipped through the itinerary of Peter Fleming. "I figure that the only way for us to get ahead of this Glimpse is to go backward." He gazed at Orwell. "Here. He had a meeting this morning with a Chase Roberts. She's the secretary of David Brown, who recently developed a satellite software that could track any person anywhere, and Fleming is interested in buying that software."

"With that kind of software, nobody could hide from Ark." Orwell held his gaze. "Nobody including The Cape."

"What I don't get is why did his secretary meet with Fleming? Why not the creator of that software?" Orwell moved over to the console nearby, and a screen popped into view. "Something of this importance is normally higher than a secretary's pay grade."

"I agree. David Brown went on vacation a week ago to Bermuda, but he missed his flight home. He made one phone call to his secretary while away, but there's been no activity since."

"Glimpse's first victim."

"Maybe, but why wasn't the secretary killed?"

"She's a pawn." Vince moved away from the desk. "Glimpse needs her to gain access to Fleming. That satellite software would be a hot commodity on the black market, which is why the banker was needed, but something went wrong. Someone messed up, and now Glimpse is covering all of their bases." He returned to the itinerary. "There's another meeting scheduled for today. Actually, in twenty minutes. If Glimpse hasn't killed Chase Roberts yet, she is good as dead as soon as she gets whatever they are using her for." He grabbed the Cape off a chair and bolted toward the entranceway.

"Wait!" He spun around toward Orwell. "Don't you want to know what I found? The autopsy report came in. The female victim had a tattoo, a blue chrysanthemum." Orwell returned to the console and began punching in keys. "It's a very rare tattoo. Only a few individuals had it done. Oh, no."

"What?" Vince took a step toward her. "What is it?"

"Out of the three people, who have this tattoo, one of them is Chase Roberts."

"How is that possible?" He stared at the woman's picture on the screen. "If that's Chase Roberts, then who is Fleming meeting with?"

"I don't know."

"Then, we need to find out." He threw on the Cape and disappeared outside.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"You're a minute late." Peter Fleming's secretary checked her watch. She didn't even move out of the way to allow Chase Roberts out of the elevator. "Here." She shoved a large, manila envelope into her hands. "Now, go."

"Wait. That's it?"

"Everything you need is in that envelope." She stepped closer. "If I were you, I wouldn't lose it." The elevator doors slammed closed.

"It's three o' clock," Chase muttered. "Her watch must be fast."

The ride back down to the lobby felt like forever. The envelope was heavy in her hands. Part of her wanted to look in it and make sure that the necessary security clearance was inside, but Peter Fleming didn't play games. He just ended them.

The elevator doors slid open. There was no place to go to now but back to the hotel. Maybe, he wouldn't be waiting there. Maybe, she could leave this envelope on the bed and then run. She could run, and they would never find her. But what if she was wrong?

One step forward, and she nearly lost her balance. He was there, waiting for her. He stood by the front doors, checking his watch, but he knew that she saw him. A bulge under his coat told her that his gun was ready. She could run, but he would shoot her. She could run, and more people would be killed. So, she took another step forward, moving toward him.

"You get it?" He took her by the arm. "Any problems?" He walked her outside. "Don't make this any more difficult," he whispered into her ear.

"Okay." She slowly handed him the envelope, and with his free hand, he tucked it away into his coat pocket. "Please. Please, let me go."

"I'm sorry. I can't do that, but I promise that it will be quick." He led her toward the parking lot. "We'll go somewhere quiet," he whispered again into her ear.

Vince Faraday watched them from a short distance. He knew she was in trouble, but there were too many people around. He could rescue her as The Cape, but they were still too close to Ark. He would follow them instead and then rescue her, and then he would ask her who she really was. But who was the hired gun now holding her hostage?

A gunshot rang out. Chase Roberts fell backward, striking the ground. The man beside her was shocked and ran for cover. Vince Faraday spun around, trying to locate the sniper, but it was too late. The bullet had struck home. Chase Roberts was dead. Again.

Vince Faraday chased the other hitman. There was no saving Chase Roberts now. Her frozen eyes of terror held his gaze for a moment, and then he disappeared into the crowd. He gained speed, but the man in front of him dodged left. He followed. As he turned the corner, the man was gone. There was nothing left to do now but wait for the heist.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Daylight melted into night. The world readied itself for bed. Dreams etched across illustration, heroes dressed in legend, and secrets whispered across the comic book page. Hope was the soft moonlight gently caressing the darkness, but fear refused to fade. There was no rest for the wicked, and a bitter wind turned, finding its way home. Somewhere in the heart of the darkness, the shadows stirred.

The security panel flashed green. The glass, front entrance doors swooped open. Six shadows emerged, but their footsteps hardly echoed across the tiled floor. The security console glowed with life, and black, gloved hands went to work. The cameras went dark, and the elevator doors opened with welcome. Two masked men readied their guns and stepped inside, rising to the top floor, where Peter Fleming slept.

A small body sat rigid before the security console. His dark, blue eyes scanned the screens before him. A smile pulled at his lips as he accessed Ark's financial transactions. His fingers went to work, and numbers jumped from one account into another. The soft, ticking of his watch warned him to be quick, and if all went well, they would be out under the planned time. But then a shadow fell over him.

The Cape wasted no time. He fought the masked men, who tried to put up a fight. They were no match for him and were quickly rendered unconscious, leaving the man at the security console. The Cape took a dangerous step forward, but the man hardly blinked. Instead, he leaned against the chair and placed his hands on the back of his head. His job was done.

"Arrest me," he laughed. "It's too late. We have Ark's money, and Peter Fleming is dead." The Cape lifted him up out of the seat. "You lose."

"You want to bet?" The Cape threw him to the floor, tying his hands behind his back with zip ties. "How many are upstairs?" The man refused to answer. "How many?"

The Cape knew that they were walking into a trap. The would-be assassins had no idea that Peter Fleming was really Chess. He could let them walk straight into death, but what about Glimpse? He was the mastermind to this heist, and the only way to track him down was to make his men talk. He couldn't stand aside, allowing Chess to kill them, but his stomach turned at the idea of saving him. "Why am I always saving Fleming," he muttered as he raced to the elevators.

"To prove your innocence," was Orwell's response. "Vince, they lost the body."

"What body?" He stepped inside the elevator and punched the button for the top floor.

"Chase Roberts. They can't find her body."

"Which Chase Roberts?"

"The second one. She was declared dead and transported to the morgue, but her body never got there."

"One problem at a time." The elevator doors slid open.

A body was thrown toward the elevator. The Cape barely ducked for cover. He spun around and met the dead man's eyes. He was too late. Peter Fleming was now Chess, and the last man was caught in his cold, tight hands.

"How did you get my security clearance?" Chess choked the man in his grasp. "How did you get the codes to access my accounts?"

"Glimpse," the man breathed.

Chess ripped off his mask. The Cape recognized him from earlier that day. He was the man holding the second Chase Roberts hostage. He was the man that The Cape had lost, but not now. And The Cape moved toward them.

"Stay back," Chess warned him. "Glimpse. Who is Glimpse?" The man refused to answer. "I asked you a question."

"I can't." The man was on his knees. His hands held onto Chess's arms, pleading for mercy. "He finds you. I can't find him. I only follow his instructions. He wanted you dead."

"Why?" Chess's eyes glowed fierce. "Why?"

"I don't know."

"Then, what good are you?" Chess snapped his neck.

The man slumped to the side. His empty eyes held The Cape's gaze. His gun was only a few inches away, but neither one made a move toward it. Instead, the Cape and Chess stood opposite each other, waiting for the next move.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"I'm the villain," Chess replied. "The question is. Which one of us finds this Glimpse first?"

"I guess we shall see." The Cape backed away.

"The pawns have fallen down, Cape." Chess stared at the dead man. "We're playing for the king now." He looked up to see that the Cape was already gone. "It's my move."

Standing on the rooftop opposite the Ark building was someone dressed in black. A hood covered their face, and black sunglasses hid their eyes. A gloved hand held a cell phone against their ear. "It's done," they said. "They're either dead or caught, but Chess is still alive." Binoculars dangled around their neck. "We have work to do, Trace."

"That we do, Glimpse. That we do."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The lair was a place of sanctuary. Its cold, steel walls kept the world at bay. When wounded, its silence was comfort, compassion and healing. No matter how bad things got, it would always be home. Sometimes, the enemy did follow the hero here, tearing down sanctuary, and wounds bled. Anger was the venom left behind.

"Damn it!" Vince punched a wall. "Damn it."

"You're angry." Orwell stood by her console, torn between staying away and comforting him. "I understand."

"He killed that man right in front of me, and he didn't blink." Vince turned toward her. "He thinks that this is a game. A game!" She blinked. "I want to kill him, Orwell. I want to kill Chess."

"You need him alive. He's the only one that could prove your innocence."

"I don't care! If Glimpse wants him dead, then maybe I won't save him next time."

"You can't mean that."

"What is he to you, Orwell? You're always telling me to keep him alive, but is it for me? Or for you?"

"I traced the financial transactions from the heist." She turned toward the screen. She paused, waiting for him to point out that she was changing the topic, but he just stared at her. "It was split evenly among two Cayman Island bank accounts and something called the Fallen Angel Fund."

"Fallen Angel?" Vince now stood beside her. "What's that?"

"It's a fund dedicated to ending senseless violence. Twenty-five years ago, a nurse named Angela Glimpse was found brutally murdered in her home. Her three-year-old daughter was left with the baby-sitter, but when the police went to the baby-sitter's house, they were gone. That's interesting. Angela Glimpse found her daughter in a dumpster outside Saint Hope Hospital. She adopted her shortly afterward, but they never found her biological mother."

"Obviously, someone went looking for the baby."

"And found Angela three years later, leaving a bloody Chess piece behind. A pawn." A pawn appeared on the screen. "The daughter, Hazel was currently being tested at her mother's hospital for a photogenic memory. This may have been how they found her."

"But where has she been for the last twenty-five years?"

"I don't know. There's a memorial tomorrow night at the hospital in memory of Angela. Glimpse will probably be there."

"Well, now we know why she wants Chess dead." He read Orwell's expression. "Don't worry. I'm going to find her and get to the bottom of this." A knot turned in his stomach. If she made a move against Chess, and she probably would, he would have to stop her, saving Chess once again. "I don't know what's worse."

"What?"

"Chess's list of allies or his list of enemies."

Silence fell over the lair. There was nothing left to do now but let tonight die quietly. Tomorrow was tomorrow, a wild card. The game was afoot, and Chess would make his move. If the Cape was lucky, he would remain one step ahead of him, but Chess was right. The pawns were down. The stakes were higher now, but they weren't playing to overtake the king. They were gunning for its queen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Senseless violence ruled the world. It's on the news, causalities of innocence. Madness reigned. Bullets soared. Streets ran red. Homes were no longer sanctuary, and nightmares lived. In our darkest hour did the villains rise, but are the vigilantes born, ready to take back what was destroyed? And in the end, can they silence the pain, the violence that rages on, or do the villains still win?

It was a full house at Saint Hope Hospital. Evening gowns and tuxedos blurred into one. High heels and loafers tapped to the beat, moving to the music. Diamonds and pearls glinted against the light. Smiles lit up porcelain faces, and gentle hands reached for another. And the green of money filled the baskets in front of an angel, a portrait of Angela Glimpse.

It was too dangerous for Vince Faraday to attend this event, but not the Cape. Nobody looked up to see a large shadow overhead. Nobody felt eyes scanning the crowd, looking for one. Everyone was having a good time, laughing and smiling. The party was in full swing, and then his eyes fell on the one that entered the room. And a groan slipped through his lips.

Peter Fleming and Marty Voyt entered the room. Fleming wasted no time and dropped a check into one of the baskets. A waiter walked by them, and Marty grabbed two glasses of champagne. He handed a glass to Fleming and then drank from his own. They stood to the side, enjoying the party, but it was obvious that they were here for another reason. They were here for Glimpse.

"You think she'll show?"

"Yes. I do." Fleming sipped his champagne. "She obviously knows about my role in Angela's death." His voice dropped a notch over a whisper. "She's amazing, isn't she?"

"Who? Glimpse?" Marty stared at him. "She tried to have you killed. I wouldn't call that amazing."

"She's just like her mother. Not Angela, but her biological mother." He swirled the champagne around in his glass. "Ark would not have been the corporation it is today, if not for Glimpse's mother."

"What happened to her?"

"She betrayed me." He polished off his glass. A waiter walked by, and he dropped it onto his tray. "Nobody betrays me."

"Nobody will." Marty looked nervous. "I'll do a sweep, see if I can find anyone looking suspicious."

"Doubtful. Her mother was a very good chameleon, but you do the sweep."

A woman bumped into Fleming. Her long, brown hair hung over her shoulder. Blue eyes met Fleming's gaze, and she blushed like a red rose. A mumbled excuse me slipped through her lips, and she moved away. But Fleming stared after her as she disappeared into the crowd.

"That was her." He moved in that direction, and Marty followed. "Where'd she go?" He nearly tripped over something on the floor. He knelt down and picked up a brown, long haired wig. "What a clever chameleon." His eyes shined.

Glimpse slipped outside. She removed her contact lenses and dropped them to the ground. She kicked off her dress shoes, preferring to walk bare foot. She despised high heels, and they always slowed her down. And she started to run.

The Cape dropped in front of her. She nearly fell backward, but he grabbed her by the arm. He pushed her against the wall, and she started to scream. He covered her mouth and then held one finger to his lips. When she calmed down, he stepped back but only a short distance away.

"So, we finally meet." Glimpse's brown eyes held his gaze. "You don't have to be a part of this. Walk away."

"No." He inched closer. "You can't kill him."

"He killed my mother!" She noticed the look on his face. "What? What is that look for?"

The Cape had overhead Fleming's conversation. He knew Glimpse was hurting over Angela's death, but how could he tell her about her biological mother also being murdered by Chess? She had the right to know, but that knowledge would feed her vengeance. "I'm sorry," he began. "You have to let this go."

"I've been telling her that from the beginning." A man stood behind the Cape. "She's stubborn."

The Cape turned around, but it was too late. A current of electricity raced through his body. He saw an older man holding a tazer, but then everything went dark. And he dropped to the ground.

"Was that really necessary, Trace?"

"Give me a break, Glimpse. He wasn't going to let you just walk away. Now, let's go." He pulled her away from the wall. "Chess is here, and he can't find us."

"We can't leave him."

"Yes, we can. You don't want to get between those two."

"Trace, we can't leave the Cape here. Not like this." She looked at the fallen hero. "He has to come with us."

"I would stand here and argue with you, but it's too damn dangerous." He picked up the Cape and threw him over his shoulder. "I told you to leave this city, but you are too damn stubborn."

"But you love me just the same."

Marty and Chess exited the hospital. Darkness crept around them, but they could make out three shadows in the distance. Marty made a move to follow, but Chess held him back. "Let them go," he said.

"You think they'll kill him? The Cape?"

"No, but don't worry. We'll see them again." His eyes were radiant. "Come on. Let's go back inside." He gestured to go back in. "Next time, Cape, you won't be so lucky." The door closed behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

It was another day like any other. The phones rang off the hook. Stacks of paper waited to be filed. The office doors opened and slammed shut. Voices conquered the air, chased by cries for justice. A comic book laid open, promising the tales of heroes, but then a shadow fell over daylight. All dreams faded away.

"Ready for lunch?" Dana Faraday leaned against the desk. "Vince, I don't know if those comics are such a good idea." Vince opened a desk drawer and placed the comic book inside. "I mean… There's nothing wrong with super heroes, but our son needs to be grounded. He needs to know the world that we live in."

"He will." Vince kissed his wife on the lips. "Heroes are a good idea, though. It'll give him something to believe in. It'll help him get through life, if something were to happen to me."

"Don't say that." She put her hands on Vince's shoulders. "Nothing is going to happen to you." She held his gaze. "Now, are you going to take me to lunch, or what?"

"Let's go." He grabbed his coat off his chair. "How about Chinese?"

"No. I'm not feeling that today."

They stepped out into the hallway. Officers walked by, leading arrested felons in front of them. A man stood by a pay phone, pleading his innocence. Families sat on the bench, hoping for justice to be served. It was another day like any other.

"I told you to not come here," a woman said. "It's too dangerous."

Vince turned to see a young police officer leading an older woman to the stairwell. A hat was pulled over her face, but she peered out, meeting his gaze. Her hand rested on the woman's arm but not too tightly. They walked together as if familiar with the other like two old friends instead of an officer and a felon. He wanted to stop them, but they quickly moved ahead.

"What is it?"

"I don't know." Vince watched them disappear from sight. "Probably nothing." He looked at his wife. "Come on. It's getting late." They walked the other way, but he stopped to look over his shoulder. "Those rookies get younger and younger."

The memory faded away in a burst of light. His eyes cried out in pain, forcing him back into darkness. His head spun like he was on a Merry-Go-Round. His body throbbed, but it was just the aftereffect of being zapped. His hands were bound behind his back, and he was propped up on a chair. He started to speak, but then he coughed.

"Here." Glimpse poured a glass of water into his mouth. "Drink slowly."

"Thank you." Vince swallowed the water. "We met before."

"Have we?"

"Once." He felt his mask was still in place. They had no interest in his identity, and he was warned to stay out of this. But here he was. "You were walking a woman out of a police station." She pulled the glass away. "You were dressed like a cop."

"That woman was my babysitter." Glimpse stood a few feet away, studying him. "She was actually running a con when my mother asked her to babysit me." Her fingers tapped against the glass. "She was bringing me home when she saw all those police. She thought that they were on to her, but then… She realized what was really happening."

"And she took you with her."

"Yeah." Glimpse brought the glass over. "She knew what I was capable of." She poured more water into his mouth. "It was the only thing that mattered to her."

"And she nearly got you killed for that." Trace appeared nearby, holding a lap top. "The day after you bailed her out, her con went south, and she was killed. They nearly killed you too." He looked from Glimpse to the Cape. "What are you supposed to be? A comic book hero?"

"Something like that," Vince said. "What are you supposed to be?" He noticed a prison tattoo on the man's upper right arm.

"Yeah. I did hard time once." He followed Vince's gaze to the tattoo of a skull with black tears. "I was ready to resume that life, and then this one appeared." He looked over at Glimpse. "I said the same thing to Monica. Leave her alone. Let someone else deal with her, but she insisted." He pulled up a chair near them. "She saw Glimpse as an opportunity. I saw a child that needed a parent, but the child can be rather stubborn." He shook his head. "We should have left here after the heist." He tapped his laptop. "She wanted Chess dead."

"With good reason." Glimpse crossed her arms over her chest. "He killed my mother."

"Damn it."

"What?" She stepped closer to Trace. "What is it?"

"Our accounts are frozen. I can't access the money."

Chess's face appeared on the screen. His eyes glowed, widening with anticipation. A smile twitched at his lips. He looked from Trace to Glimpse, but he didn't notice the Cape in background. Or he just didn't care. "Hello, whoever you are," he began. "Have I got your attention now?"

"Yeah," Trace growled.

"Good. Let's get a few things straight, shall we? You haven't fooled anyone. Am I right, Glimpse? I've been looking for you for a very long time."

"Good for you." She glanced at the Cape. "And for the record, I fooled you. You were played."

"No, my sweet girl. You were played. You see, you walked right into my trap." He let his words sink in for a moment. "I knew that David Brown's technology would lure you out. You couldn't risk being found, or walking away from trying to take me out. How did you think I got the upper hand on your men?" Vince winced at his words. "It was perfect bait, and you took it. Now, do I have your attention?"

"He doesn't know where we are," Trace whispered to Glimpse. "We can run."

"And I will find you." Trace looked at him. "Look, I have no ill intentions toward either one of you. In fact, if you kill the Cape, you will be on my better side." He gazed at them. "But you won't. Doesn't matter. You, sir, can have your money and be on your merry way."

"And me?"

"You, Glimpse? I would very much like to meet."

"I don't think so."

"It's just a friendly conversation, where we could talk about your real mother and your future for Ark."

"My real mother? You killed my real mother, and you had the nerve to show up tonight!" Trace touched her arm. "I hate you."

"How unfortunate, but it would be even more unfortunate for the man sitting beside you to die." A sinister smile stretched across his lips. "Nice touch, by the way with faking her death. I truly admire your work."

"You don't know where we are."

"Do I?" He stared at Trace. "Do you want to test that theory?"

"Okay." Glimpse moved in front of Trace. "Okay. Give him the money, and let him get safely out of the city."

"Glimpse!"

"Don't trust him." The Cape was quiet up to now, but he knew what she was thinking. "You can't trust him."

"Meet me, or Trace dies. That's your last move, Glimpse, and you know that. And you know where to meet me, so think it over. I'll be waiting." The screen went dark.

"No," Trace whispered. Glimpse hugged him, kissing his cheek. "No."

"I can't lose you." Glimpse closed her eyes. "I'm sorry." She moved away from him.

"The hell you are." Trace dropped the lap top to the ground. "I'm coming with you."

"It's too dangerous, Trace."

"Then, maybe, if you two untie me, I can help." The Cape had tried to untie himself, but the knots were very tight. "You can trust me." They stared at him. "If you want to survive Chess, you will need me." His eyes moved from Trace to Glimpse. "It's your move."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

If she had a choice, Glimpse would have chosen an ordinary life. Such was not her fate. She would never know her real mother. She had fragments of memory of the woman that rescued her and who was brutally murdered for doing so. That woman would have been alive today, if not for Glimpse, and for the rest of her life, she would live with that. And then there was the other woman, who had a choice. She could have left Glimpse to the police and foster care, but instead, she chose the life that Glimpse would live, where she became the chameleon and left whoever she was far behind.

In the beginning, Trace refused to accept her. That woman, Monica never failed to put her abilities to the test, and the con would run smoothly. They would make a fortune, and a few lives might be lost along the way. They were pawns, thugs for hire, and they needed to take the fall to allow the real players to escape. Some time would go by, and then the game was afoot again. As time went by, Trace grew warmer and warmer to Glimpse, creating conflict between her and Monica, and then the stakes became too high. And in the heat of betrayal, Monica nearly took Glimpse's life but lost hers instead.

Glimpse could have walked away from that life. She had a chance after recovering, but this was all that she knew. There was no place for Trace in the ordinary world, and he saved her. She couldn't leave him behind, so they became partners. They ran con after con, making small fortunes, and clean escapes. Behind the games, though, one thought stayed with Glimpse. She wanted to find the man responsible for her adoptive mother's death, and one day, his name surfaced. Chess, and after that, she waited. She waited until now to finally avenge the death of Angela Glimpse.

It was all quiet on the Saint Hope Hospital front. A new, larger hospital was being built a short distance away, and once complete, this place would be closed. Its services had already been dwindled down, but its Emergency Room was still alive and well. Ambulances screamed into the night, and its flashing lights promised hope. Yet, in the darkness, a glimpse of evil waited with radiant eyes, and a past forever broken was left unburied in an open dumpster, where a baby once cried. There would be no rescue tonight.

Glimpse stepped near the dumpster. She didn't return Chess's smile. She just stared into that black abyss, hearing a baby cry. This was where it all began. This was where Angela found her, and this was where Chess would track her down. She wanted to know why. She wanted to know why he wanted her so badly enough that he would kill the one that saved her. Why was she so important to him?

"Glimpse." Chess followed her gaze. "I never wanted this life for you." He stood a few feet away. "I had such grand plans for you."

"Are you my father?"

"Me? Sadly, no." He took a step closer. "I knew your father."

"Did you kill him too?" Glimpse glared at him. "Did you?"

"Actually, he's alive and well."

"How about my real mother?"

"I think you know what happened to her."

"Yeah. Like Angela."

"Yeah. Sorry about that." He studied her every move, determining what he should do next. "I don't want to hurt you. I understand that you are angry and that you want revenge."

"Can you blame me?" Glimpse took a step toward him.

"Not too close, Glimpse." Trace's voice tickled her ear. "He's up to something."

"I suppose that's Trace buzzing in your ear." He tapped his own ear. "I wanted you to come alone."

"But you knew that I wouldn't play fair."

"You have your players, and I have mine."

Trace stood a short distance away. A sniper rifle rested in his hands. His eye focused on Chess, and his finger scratched the trigger. A headset informed him of what Chess was saying, and his body tightened, ready. But the cold barrel of a gun pressed into the back of his neck.

"Lower your weapon. Now!" It was Marty Voyt. "Do it." Trace lowered his gun. "Now, move. Move!" He pushed him toward Chess and Glimpse. "Where's the Cape?"

"This is between you and me." She saw Trace and Marty walk toward them. "Leave Trace out of this."

"I gave you that choice earlier. Now, it's too late."

The Cape watched from the hospital rooftop. He could see Ark's police force approaching from both alley entrance ways. Glimpse and Trace were caught. If he didn't make a move now, this was going to end badly.

"Checkmate." Chess laughed. "Now, Glimpse. Trace's life depends on you. Come with me, and he lives."

"If I say no?"

"He dies, and so do you. You see, I can't have someone like you running around out there. Someone like you can be a real danger to someone like me."

"I see." Glimpse reached into her pocket. "I never wanted this. I just wanted to be ordinary."

"My dear, you can never be ordinary."

"I see." Her hand closed over something. "I'll come with you."

"Glimpse."

"Shut up." Marty pushed his gun further into Trace. "Be lucky that you are still breathing."

Something slipped from Glimpse's hand. Two, black, cylinder balls rolled across the ground. They clicked together and then separated. A moment later, an explosion knocked everyone off their feet. Smoke filled the alleyway, and somewhere in the background, a hooded figure battled against a group of Ark's police force.

Trace slammed his fist into Marty's face, rendering him unconscious. He turned toward Glimpse, but she was gone. Chess was nowhere in sight. The Cape ran to his side, but more of Ark's police force was approaching them.

"Go," The Cape said. "I got this. Go find Glimpse."

"Thank you." Trace ran down the alleyway.

Chess was running now. He didn't expect the Cape to be fighting on their side, leveling the playing field. He didn't expect Glimpse to have an Ace up her sleeve, but it was obvious. Her choice was made, and there was nothing left for him to do. She had to die.

"Chess!" She caught up to him. "It's over!" His back was turned toward her. "Game over. You lose."

"Do I?" He pulled his gun out and waited for her to take a few more steps toward him. "I am an expert at chess."

"I don't care." She took one more step. "Time to die."

"I agree." He spun around toward her and fired his gun.

Trace jumped in front of her. The bullet struck home. He fell to the ground, knocking her down. He saw Chess aim his gun once more at Glimpse, but he had his gun in hand. A gunshot rang out. Chess staggered back with blood gushing down his arm.

"This isn't over." Chess dropped his gun. "I'll find you again, and when I do, I'll kill you." He ran toward a black van and dove inside.

The van wasted no time and took off down the street. Ark's police force fell back, leaving their unconscious and wounded behind. Sirens sounded into the night, and flashing lights filled the alleyway. EMTs hurried toward those that needed help, but at the end of the alley, one man lied still. It was too late. It was too late to save Trace's life.


	12. Chapter 12

**Finale**

Warm tears raced down porcelain skin. Soft, red lips trembled. Pain flashed in a brown-eyed gaze. Hands held each other, praying for the misery to end. Pieces of a heart cut the chest, making breathing harsh with a jagged edge. Worry and fear crashed over the one lying still, waves to push her under, but then a hand fell across her shoulder.

"I'm sorry." Vince Faraday squeezed her shoulder. "I'm so sorry about Trace. He was a good man."

"I was wrong." Glimpse wiped her tears aside. "I should have listened to him. If I had listened to him, he would still be alive." Her voice trembled. "Maybe, I should never have been born. If I was never here, Angela, Monica, and Trace would all still be alive."

"Don't say that." Vince knelt in front of her. "They loved you." He wiped more of her tears aside. "We can all get blindsided to our desire for revenge." He looked up and saw Orwell standing nearby. "We do foolish things, but then we find hope." His eyes now held hers. "We find hope, and it gives us the strength to overcome tragedy."

"Does it make us heroes?" She looked away. "I don't know what I am. I don't know what to do. He won. Chess won."

"No." Orwell moved closer. "He didn't. You're still alive, and as long as you are, then you won."

"What good is that?" Glimpse looked at her. "The people I love are dead."

"But they wouldn't want you to give up." Vince touched her face. "Does hope make us heroes? It might. Tragedy can break us down, crush us to the ground, but if we find the strength to rise back up, we become stronger. We become heroes, so don't give up." He wiped away more of her tears. "Your real father is still alive. Chess said so himself."

"What does that matter?"

"It matters because I could find him," Orwell responded. "Don't you want to know who your real father was?"

"I don't know." Glimpse swallowed hard. "What if he doesn't want to know me?"

"I think he will."

"I think Orwell is right." Vince stood up. "He's your father, and you're his child." He held his hand out toward her. "Start over, Glimpse. Make a clean slate of things." She took his hand. "Don't give up." He pulled her to her feet. "Live for those you lost."

"As you live for yours?" She pointed to a picture of Vince's wife and son. "Do you miss them?"

"Every day, but I know that I will see them again. I won't give up, and neither should you."

"Okay." Glimpse wiped her eyes one last time. "Okay, but what if Chess tries to find me again?"

"Don't worry about Chess." Orwell looked at Vince. "I'll take care of him." He returned her gaze. "Just stay off the radar like you did before."

"Trace helped me with that." She folded her hands together. "This life is over." She looked from Vince to Orwell. "Time to start over. Clean slate."

"Clean slate," Orwell repeated. She held her hand out toward her. "Come on." She took Glimpse's hand. "We'll find your father, and then I'll help you get out of the city undetected." She led her out of the lair.

"Wait. What do I call you? The Cape or Vince?"

"Vince." He smiled. "Good-bye, Glimpse." He nodded to Orwell, and they walked away. "Good luck."

What makes us heroes in the face of tragedy? Is it because we refuse to surrender, to fall away? Is it because we deny ourselves to remain broken, fragments of who we were? Is it because if we rise up, we find destiny waiting? Are we heroes in our darkest hour because we walk away, wounded forever with the moment that could have been our end? No. What makes us heroes in the face of tragedy is because we survive. We continue on, creating another life, finding destiny. The slate is clean, and we write our future. We become heroes.


End file.
